It had been a good start to the weekend. Tickets had come through for the England match in a couple of weeks. Then confirmation I've got first dibs when Brazil come to town in February. Oh yes. Then found a city centre hotel for the trip to Sunderland for a pittance. Can't go wrong with Travelodge. Comfy bed. Somewhere to wash. That'll do me.
Then the real bonus. When Chipper and I are up in Edinburgh for the Hearts game next month, England have conveniently arranged a rugby league test match against the Jockonese the next day. Sometimes things just go your way.
Then last season. An unforgettable FA Cup run, culminating in 1,200 people turning up, including ITV and Sky, for their 1st Round match. Me and Mick Lowes, buddies now. He's a Sunderland fan to boot. Then dumping Welling United out of the FA Trophy. A Ryman League Cup Final appearance.
Hastings were in town, or in village, today, for an FA Trophy tie. Solid, unspectacular, make things difficult, that was my experience of their visits to Essex. This might be a long afternoon. Still, the day never fails to throw up something. Getting the train into Basildon, a lad gets on at Southend.
The game kicks off, with club secretary Neil berating his kids, urging them to be quiet during the game. His kids are fine, as it goes, well behaved despite their exuberance, but other kids fannying around can get on your wick. They certainly do his. Chortle. I shouldn't laugh, with him having 1,001 things to do on match days, but I do. As does Jenny, mind, the club's queen of twitter and ringing through scores and stuff.
Kye Ruel opens the scoring just after 10 minutes and by the midway point of the first half, Hakeem Araba had made it 2-0. He's another character, Hakeem. Played at Dagenham. A lovely, polite, guy, but has the physique and look of an MMA athlete. Left the Rocks a while back to further his career in Tunisia. Two days after he arrived, the Arab Spring Revolution started. On second thoughts, Corringham seemed a safer place to be after all, albeit via Bromley. But only just, mind.
We get the train home, happy with the win, and even happier to be back at our football 'home'. Rookery Hill never lets us down, we always, always have a great afternoon. As we take our seats, opposite us is a wino. She's pissed out of her head, unconscious, surrounded by bags, with her head slumped on a table.
Then the real bonus. When Chipper and I are up in Edinburgh for the Hearts game next month, England have conveniently arranged a rugby league test match against the Jockonese the next day. Sometimes things just go your way.
Been looking forward to this day for a while as well. Out of all the teams I've covered for the radio the past few seasons, of all the places I'd been to, for me Rookery Hill and East Thurrock United is 'home'.
The first game we covered there, East Thurrock United were in a bit of a rut. Despite being dominated early on, the Rocks had somehow forced themselves into a 2-1 lead against Ilford. Then in injury, their striker was given an open goal from inside the six yard box to snatch an equaliser. Somehow, he hit it over the bar. The Rocks won. Then won 74 of the next 84 points on offer to them and won the title at a canter.
Then last season. An unforgettable FA Cup run, culminating in 1,200 people turning up, including ITV and Sky, for their 1st Round match. Me and Mick Lowes, buddies now. He's a Sunderland fan to boot. Then dumping Welling United out of the FA Trophy. A Ryman League Cup Final appearance.
And then Chipper and I bore witness to a couple of pensioners from Tooting & Mitcham trying to start a fight. Which I may or may not have provoked by referring to them live on air as Statler and Waldorf and describing in great pleasure the Rocks winning goal being offside.
Yep, Rookery Hill is a place where anything can happen. And does. Where Covo comes and sits with you in the first half. Where there's real Northern warmth and hospitality, despite the club being firmly entrenched in the South East. The club is full of good people from top to bottom. It's good to be there.
Hastings were in town, or in village, today, for an FA Trophy tie. Solid, unspectacular, make things difficult, that was my experience of their visits to Essex. This might be a long afternoon. Still, the day never fails to throw up something. Getting the train into Basildon, a lad gets on at Southend.
He puts his Gucci sunglasses into a plastic box, undoes a screw top on a bottle of Rose, and starts swigging from the bottle. He's on his way to an all-day street party in Shoreditch with 9 rave DJ's. He's off his tits already. Not with alcohol either. It's a good start to the afternoon already.
We get to our accustomed position at Rookery Hill. The ledge is good, I can put all my gumph on it. As for watching the game, both goals are obscured by giant metal girders holding up the roof. But that's the way I like it. Character and charm. And, after all, I'm actually capable of moving my head from side to side on occasion.
The game kicks off, with club secretary Neil berating his kids, urging them to be quiet during the game. His kids are fine, as it goes, well behaved despite their exuberance, but other kids fannying around can get on your wick. They certainly do his. Chortle. I shouldn't laugh, with him having 1,001 things to do on match days, but I do. As does Jenny, mind, the club's queen of twitter and ringing through scores and stuff.
The Rocks are right on their game and Hastings are woeful, absolutely woeful. They don't close down space, they're second to every loose ball, they don't try to tackle. Put a white shirt on them and you'd swear you were watching England in a World Cup game.
Kye Ruel opens the scoring just after 10 minutes and by the midway point of the first half, Hakeem Araba had made it 2-0. He's another character, Hakeem. Played at Dagenham. A lovely, polite, guy, but has the physique and look of an MMA athlete. Left the Rocks a while back to further his career in Tunisia. Two days after he arrived, the Arab Spring Revolution started. On second thoughts, Corringham seemed a safer place to be after all, albeit via Bromley. But only just, mind.
It's much the same in the second half. The visitors are shittier than a bag of manure that's been shat on by a rhino with the shits. Hakeem grabs another, Sam Higgins gets in on the act, and then they take their foot off the pedal. FA Cup match next week. No need to exert themselves.
The only real action after that is Neil demanding to know what kid kicked a ball against the back of the stand and almost on the pitch. That and the sight of Hastings fans leaving well before full time. I don't blame them.
We get the train home, happy with the win, and even happier to be back at our football 'home'. Rookery Hill never lets us down, we always, always have a great afternoon. As we take our seats, opposite us is a wino. She's pissed out of her head, unconscious, surrounded by bags, with her head slumped on a table.
We chortle. We take pics. We listen intently as she mumbles in her stupor. The decent thing to do would be to ask if she knows where she's going. The thing we do, however, is to continue giggling.
At last, the Bay. We head off home, happy with the day in so many ways. We get in and switch on the tv. The first thing that comes on is the play-offs. St. Helens v Warrington.
Sometimes, just sometimes, life is good. Damn good.
East Thurrock United 4, Hastings United 0
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